FRANCESCA WALKED into the gymnasium with a hopeful idea of showing the Game-makers her skills. She was hopeful, of course, until she met eyes with Seneca Crane.

They all wore stupid suits and fancy dresses— the colours didn't even match, Frankie thought judgementally. Behind them, a long table with a feast with a variety of vibrant and fresh food. Frankie hoped they choked.

She presented the skills with her trident, trying her hardest to impress the gathering from the Capitol. Her hands were shaking, though Frankie managed to swirl and swish her trident around, stabbing at the targets on the multiple dummies. Frankie wished Finnick was here to witness this.

Frankie let out a breath, collecting her trident after throwing it at a dummy target. She caught her breath, before finding the bravery to look up at the gathering of Game-makers.

The girl expected an applause for her performance, though the room remained silent. The Game-makers were laughing with each other, ignoring Frankie and her performance, as they continued to snack on their feast.

Frankie scoffed in disbelief, brushing the hair out of her sweating face. Her heart was pounding from frustration and slight embarrassment— she was just another player in their Game. They didn't care about her assessment, or how skilled she was; they didn't fucking care!

"Hey!" Frankie shouted up to them, having no control of what escaped her lips. She gripped her trident angrily, "I did it— I did the assessment."

The gathering of Game-makers looked down upon her in confusion and slight shock. Obviously, they had never been yelled at by a 16 year old girl, Frankie thought.

"You were supposed to watch." Francesca continued, "Isn't that your job? Other than creating a literal death-arena for children."

Seneca Crane, the head Game-maker, looked almost bewildered, and Francesca took this as an opportunity to show them her trident skills. Frankie cleared her throat, before swishing the weapon around in her hand once more. For the second time, she threw it directly at her target.

Frankie looked up again, only to notice the same scene: people laughing, eating, and ignoring her presence. The girl rolled her eyes, letting out a loud scoff,

"Okay, what the fuck?" Her voice was stern and accusing, "Am I speaking to a brick wall? Holy shit." She let out a laugh, though every ounce of her body was filled with rage.

The robotic voice echoed through the speakers, alerting, "The ten minutes is complete. Please make your way out of the gymnasium."

"What? You didn't even watch me." Francesca protested.

"The ten minutes is complete. Please make your way out of the gymnasium." The intercom repeated.

Frankie scoffed, muttering curses under her breath as she grabbed the trident from the target. She held the weapon in her hand, her eyes shooting glares at Seneca Crane and his stupidly shaped beard. Fuck their game.

Frankie did consider throwing the trident at his face, though she figured the aftermath would involve a lot of punishment. Frankie didn't have time for that, her time in the Capitol was already punishing her enough.

Suddenly, the girl threw her trident to her upper left, watching it fly through the air quickly. The three spikes at the end stabbed into the large poster which covered the entire wall, reading: Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever. The sharp ends of her trident had landed directly on an image President Snow's face.

She panted, turning back to the gathering above her. They all had expressions of annoyance, shock, and fear on their faces. But, at least they had seen her now.

"Good luck getting that trident down." Frankie smiled sarcastically, before her eyes met with Seneca Crane's, "And the colour of your suit looks terrible. I'd hire a new stylist."

And with that, she stormed out.

***

Finnick repeated in exasperation, "You threw a trident at a wall?!"

"A poster on the wall." Frankie corrected, "Of Snow's face."

"What the hell were you thinking, Lou?!" Finnick asked, continuing to pace up and down, "How do you think you'll get sponsors now?"

Frankie shrugged, "Well, Kipper got a 7/12. I'm sure he'll be happy to share his gifts in the arena."

Finnick scolded, "This isn't a game—"

"You said to play their game!" Frankie shot back.

"Playing the game of being an easy tribute, to fly under the radar!" Finnick retorted, "To not cause trouble!"

Frankie raised her voice, sitting up from the couch slightly, "What was I supposed to do, Nick? They were ignoring me the entire time!"

"You shouldn't of thrown a trident at a banner of President Snow. That would've been a good idea!" Finnick said sternly, "I'm being serious, Lou—"

"So am I." The girl cut him off.

Finnick sighed, raising his hands in surrender hesitantly, "Look. I get it, you were angry. But you can't just throw a tantrum every time you're frustrated— especially not to them!"

"Well, I got a 2/12," Frankie muttered, "So they must've enjoyed some of it."

Finnick took a deep breath, before sitting down on the couch in defeat. He pressed his hand against his forehead, hesitating slightly, "At least this helps with the Careers. They're less likely to come after you because, with a score of a 2, you're not a threat."

Frankie paused, rolling her eyes, "I'm sorry. They were ignoring me. I felt like an idiot— I hate feeling like—"

"I know. I know," Finnick nodded understandingly; he remarked, "Just don't attack anymore posters."

Dinner was quiet, with a few mutters of small conversations which ended rather quickly. Kipper and Frankie were both nervous for their first interviews tomorrow; she didn't know what to say, how to answer questions, or even present herself well as a District Four Tribute.

She remembered watching Finnick's interviews, which were displayed in the Districts a day before his Games took place. Francesca remembered her brother looking scared, though he managed to play off every question like he wasn't bothered about being sent into an arena to fight the death. He played the Capitol's game, and Frankie remembered everybody loving him.

But, she was different to Finnick, in that matter. Francesca was mean, bossy, and sarcastic; she grew up with zero friends, other than Mags— though an older woman who raised her arguably didn't count as a friend. Frankie had her brother, before he was sent away for the Hunger Games, and then she was left alone.

Francesca had gotten to the feeling, after years of experiencing the lack of love and friendship around her. She had grown to like being alone, though she didn't know if that was because being alone was all she had ever known.

Kipper's voice dragged Frankie out of her trance; he repeated, cocking an eyebrow, "Caesar Flickerman?"

"Yes," Finnick nodded, "He thrives on a story, a secret, something that will entertain the Capitol. Don't give anything to him that he can use against you later— he doesn't care about your feelings, he cares about the entertainment."

Kipper remarked, chewing on his food, "He sounds nice."

"Interviewers are trained to destroy your reputation, if you let them. Your job tomorrow is to not crumble under pressure, which sounds easy, but as soon as Caesar throws you off track, he will drive you to unlocking every secret you've ever kept." Finnick explained seriously, "Having a bad interview can take sponsors away in seconds."

Frankie reasoned curiously, "What if he asks us a question that we don't wanna answer?"

"Lou," He let out a small sigh, "When you're out on the stage, both of you, there is nothing you cannot answer. Yes, guide him away from the question whilst you answer, but you cannot just refuse. You cannot shut down, either of you, no matter how much he makes you want to run off that stage... you stay in your seat, smile, and answer his questions."

"Okay." The two Tributes agreed quietly.

"And I'll in the audience," Finnick reassured, realising how scared the two teenagers looked, "Genevieve, too."

Frankie scoffed sarcastically, "Thank God, Genevieve will be there. I was starting to panic."

"What would we do without her and her spider-lashes?" Kipper added with a smirk which made the girl laugh. Maybe Frankie had made a friend during all of this, she was growing rather fond of Kipper and his wonky smile, she thought to herself.

***

"Are you ready, Ladies and Gentleman? From District Four, we all know her as... FRANCESCA LOU ODAIR!"

Frankie stood frozen beside stage, hiding behind the curtain to take another deep breath as she pleaded for the oxygen to get sucked into her lungs. With all her bravery, she walked onto the stage with a fake smile— as Finnick had told her to— and gave a small wave to the audience.

The stage was huge and the audience was double the size. Unfamiliar faces smiled up at her, with widened eyes and dramatic makeup. They all cheered for her, muffled in her ringing ears, as she walked towards Caesar Flickerman in the centre of the stage. As she walked, her eyes were searching the large crowd for her brother— Frankie couldn't find him. She couldn't do this without her brother.

"Welcome, welcome!" The man opposite her greeted with a huge smile; his teeth were so white that it gave Frankie a headache just from looking at them glistening in the light. Caesar sat down, passing her a sparkling microphone that matched his own, "That was quite an entrance you made at the Tribute Parade the other day."

Frankie paused cautiously, her eyes still searching the audience, "Uh, thank you." She looked at him, "My, uh, my stylist made it— Harlow Roosevelt."

"Well, he certainly did a fabulous job. Didn't he?" Caesar looked at the audience, and they all cheered in agreement. He added, "Did he design your outfit tonight?"

Caesar admired her dress, which was a shade of dark green. The dress was long and layered with ruffles; each curl of the material was decorated with suction circles, exactly like octopus tentacles, swirling around the material and hugging tightly to Frankie's body. The top half of the dress was mesh netting, and covering her chest was a thin layer that, once again, represented two seashells.

They stylists had shaved entire body again, making sure her skin was unnaturally smooth. They plucked her eyebrows again, shaping them and making sure every detail was refined and beautiful. Despite the makeup, fancy costume, and styled hair, Frankie didn't feel beautiful at all. It was hard to feel gorgeous when the Capitol Stylists had changed everything about herself.

She overheard the Stylists suggesting bodily operations, supposedly her chest and lips weren't the right size. Luckily, the operation plans didn't succeed. She thought it was an odd thing to say to a 16 year old girl. Francesca didn't think the size of her lips mattered in the arena, where she would probably die in a few days.

"Uh, yeah," Frankie spluttered, her eyes darting around the audience, "He did."

Caesar noticed, of course; he squinted his big eyes in curiosity, "Now, Francesca Lou, you seem distracted... am I right in saying that?"

Frankie glanced at him, hesitating before nodding. She looked at the camera to the left, the little lens zooming into her face— she wondered if Mags was watching, Frankie missed her a lot. She realised how many people would be watching this interview, noticing her every action. Some viewers would be praying that she messed up, some would be cheering her on. Francesca looked at Caesar again; his eyes searching for answers within her own gestures, then looking at the audience for their reactions. Finnick was right— he would thrive in tearing Frankie apart, piece by piece, as the whole world watched.

Francesca was not an idiot, and she was sick of the Capitol treating her like one. She was 16– young, but wise in a way that adults would never understand.

Frankie cleared her throat, deciding to play the game, "I'm looking for my brother— Finnick."

"Oh, right— Finnick Odair?" Caesar nodded, and the crowd cheered at the recognition of the famous name. The man asked, "Your brother won his Games years ago, didn't he, Francesca Lou?"

"Yes, he did." Frankie prompted, guiding him onto the question she desperately wanted him to ask.

"And how does that make you feel?" Caesar questioned sympathetically, "Both you and your brother taking part in the Hunger Games. I'll be honest with you, Francesca Lou, your brother is a tough Tribute to beat."

Bingo. Frankie was guiding him towards that question, mainly so she could sympathise over her brother, fake cry, and gain possible sponsors.

"I would never want to beat my brother, Mr Flickerman. Finnick and I share a bond that no other siblings could recreate," Frankie explained innocently, "He's my family. Finnick is a Victor, so I trust him and his advise about the arena. I just hope..."

Caesar's eyes sparkled with curiosity, sharing eager looks with the audience, "What do you hope for, Francesca Lou?"

She looked down into her lap, purposefully making her big eyes fill up with tears. Frankie had learned how to fake cry when Mags first started babysitting— after arguing with Finnick, Frankie would run crying to Mags and get a lot of sympathy so the blame would turn on the older boy. If Frankie could see Finnick in the audience, she would be sure that he would be holding in a laugh. He recognised when she was fake crying.

"I just hope I make it back... for him." Frankie continued tearfully, "Finnick came back for me, so I feel like I have to repay him. Make him proud. Make everyone in this room proud of me."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Caesar pitied her, nodding to the audience and pulling a sad face. The audience made an eruption of 'aw' sounds, looking up at the 16 year old girl who was crying. Frankie wanted to laugh in their faces. The man nodded, gesturing to the audience, "Isn't that right everyone?"

They cheered for her, whistling and throwing red roses up at her. Frankie placed a hand on her heart, thanking them for their consideration.

And, there, within the audience sat on the left of the fifth row was Finnick. He had a glisten in his eye, though he was holding back a smile of pride. He sat with Genevieve and Harlow, who's eyes were filled with tears, and that's when Frankie noticed that people in the audience were crying.

Was it really that easy? She thought.

Caesar questioned when the crowd's noise faded, "And, may I ask, how old are you, Francesca Lou?"

"16," She smiled, "And, please, call me Frankie."

From the reactions of the crowd, Francesca guessed that the audience assumed she was much older. She blamed that on her stylist, for making her outfits so exposing. But, under all the makeup, she was just a child.

"Frankie?" Caesar repeated with a frown of curiosity.

"Yes, my friends call me Frankie," The girl nodded kindly, "The Capitol have been so lovely and... I've really enjoyed my time here, Mr Flickerman."

"Well, Frankie, you can call me Caesar." He retorted with his loud laugh, before reaching out to shake her hand. He looked at the audience, standing up, "Isn't Frankie just brilliant, everybody?!"

The crowd cheered, standing up and clapping loudly. Frankie stood up too, beaming a smile and waving to the adults in the audience.

"It's been a pleasure, Frankie," Caesar nodded, sending her away with an excited laugh, "Let's hear it for Francesca Lou, District Four!"